


Agatha Before & After

by McBangle



Series: Watford Industries [3]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Office, Davy is a horrible boss, F/F, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McBangle/pseuds/McBangle
Summary: Agatha Wellbelove is a frustrated graphic artist in Watford Industries' Marketing Department who's had it up to here with corporate culture. She's ready to f--- on out of there to a new and better life.





	1. Agatha Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tie-in to my [Stuck in the Lift With You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7260649/chapters/16485820) Snowbaz office AU. I recommend starting with SitLWU, but hope this can stand on its own as well. In short, the "Carry On" gang all work for Watford Industries - Davy Mage is a horrible boss, and Agatha is a frustrated graphic artist in the Marketing Department. "Before" fits in between chapters 4 and 5 of SitLWU.

“Very nice work, Agatha.” Miss Possibelf leans over my shoulder to inspect the mock-up animation on my computer. “Polish up the highlights and shadows and you’ll be nearly done. You’re in fine shape to finish up the campaign ahead of deadline. I’ve no idea what we’ll do without you while you’re on your holiday. You’ve become such an important asset to our team.” She leans forward confidentially, lowering her voice. “I foresee a promotion for you, come time for your next performance evaluation.”

I duck my head in faux humility. Miss Possibelf hovers by my side, obviously expecting a fervent thank-you for the promised promotion. I’ve never been a good liar, though, and I can’t seem to draw forth any enthusiasm over the sort of promotion they tend to hand out at Watford Industries – more responsibility, longer hours, more people breathing down my neck. Hardly worth the few extra quid they’ll throw my way in return.

Unlike most people who work here, I didn’t come to work at Watford dreaming of working my way up the career ladder to C.E.O. or C.F.O. or C-Whatever-O. I just wanted a job. That’s what you do after you graduate Uni, isn’t it? You take a job at your parents’ company, join the daily drudge of corporate life, and set about living the same lives that they’ve lived.

After an awkward silence that stretches on for far too long, Miss Possibelf breathes out a “…Well,” and wanders off to look over one of the other graphic artists’ shoulder. I run my hand over the back of my neck and stifle a yawn. I’ve been putting in long hours trying to finish up the latest marketing campaign before my holiday this weekend. I hate leaving things undone, and something tells me Miss Possibelf would be at loose ends the entire time I’m gone if I don’t complete it in time.

Three more days. Just three more days until I’ll be lying on a sunny beach in Ibiza with Minty. Scratch that – first, I think I’ll sleep for about eighteen hours. _Then_ I’ll drink an entire bottle of champagne. _Then_ I’ll lay out on the beach and get gorgeously tan. It will be marvelous. Just three more days.

“ _Good_ morning, Marketing team!” Davy barges into the department, running his smarmy little fingers over his smarmy little moustache. “Thank you all so much for your terrific work on the ‘Would You Waver?' campaign. Miss Possibelf showed me the draft adverts the other day, and they look marvelous, just marvelous.”

He waves an arm magnanimously about the room, making sure every eye is on him. Morgana, he’s such a bellend.

He puts on an affected sad face. “Regretfully, we’re going to have to temporarily shelve the ‘Would You Waver?’ campaign. Watford Industries is heading in a bold new strategic direction: Levers 4 All!” He holds his hands in the air as if framing an invisible sign. “Er, perhaps you all can come up with a catchier motto – that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Let’s use some novel approaches to this campaign. Think outside the box. Real next-gen strategic thinking. For instance, those aeroplanes that fly adverts at the beach. We’ll have them, but flying over Central London! Brilliant!” He claps his hands and emits a wheezy little giggle.

The room goes instantly silent. Every last one of us has put in months on this campaign. Months of pitch sessions, focus groups, casting, shooting, editing, re-shooting. Months of meeting with Davy and tweaking the adverts every time he had a new whim. Months of work nearly completed, all for him to swan in here and cancel the entire campaign!

If I were holding a pencil in my hand, I’m sure I’d have snapped it in my fist. In fact, I’m half tempted to pick up a pencil just to snap it. No – wait – I only have mechanical pencils. Another time, then.

Miss Possibelf clears her throat. Her eyes are saucers, her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. “Mr. Mage. Davy. Would you… could I have a word with you? In my office?”

“Of course.” Davy smiles mildly and follows Miss Possibelf into her office. Miss Possibelf sweeps her eyes across the staff before shutting the door behind her.

We can catch only snippets of their conversation – moments when Miss Possibelf’s voice rises shrilly. “ _Incredible_ work... Fourteen hour days... Reshoot after reshoot... _Every_ time… Unreasonable!” Whatever Davy is saying in response, it’s too soft to hear through the closed door.

Davy doesn’t need to go anything to draw our attention when the door to Miss Possibelf’s office opens. Every member of the Marketing Department had been on the edge of their seats awaiting their return.

Miss Possibelf’s face looks drawn. She studies a point on the ground inches in front of the nearest cubicle. Nicks and Slick.

Davy waves at the room like the bloody Queen. “I’m really looking forward to your great work on the Levers 4 All campaign. Remember – aeroplane adverts over Central London! I love it!” He sweeps out of the room with a flourish.

Miss Possibelf shrugs apologetically. “Sorry team, I know you’ve been working long hours, but it’s going to be another busy couple of weeks getting this new campaign off the ground. Davy wants it set to air by the first week in August.”

A collective groan passes through the room.

“First week of August? That’s impossible!” Dev complains.

“Will he change directions every few days like usual?” Trixie asks.

Miss Possibelf sinks into the nearest available office chair and runs her hands over her face. “I know. I know.” She takes a cleansing breath then looks up at us all. “I’m going to need all hands on deck if we’re going to meet this deadline. I’ll need you all here this weekend to push through the first set of drafts. I’ll procure overtime for every last one of you, if I have to take it directly out of Davy’s wallet.”

I’m stunned. I… I can’t be hearing this.

I rise on unsteady feet, then approach Miss Possibelf, gaining resolve with each step. “Miss P. I’m so sorry this is happening, and I know it’s a terrible time for it, but I can’t possibly work this weekend.” She looks uncomprehendingly at me. I push on. “I’m leaving for holiday on Friday evening. One week in Ibiza. I put in for holiday time weeks ago! I have nonrefundable reservations. I promise you, I’ll work as late as necessary today and tomorrow to get as much done as possible before I leave, and I’ll work overtime after I return–”

She raises a hand to stop me, closes her eyes and takes another deep breath before addressing me. “I am sorry, Agatha, truly I am, but when the boss calls for a new initiative, we all have to buckle down. There will be other holidays. In fact, you’ll probably earn enough overtime on this campaign alone to pay for an even better holiday.”

I stumble backwards and grab at the edge of the nearest cubicle. I can feel my stomach lurch up into my throat. The world is suddenly spinning. I need to lie down. No, I… I need…

“Coffee.” I look Miss Possibelf in the eye.

She raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“I’ll take my coffee break now.” I spin on my heel without even waiting for her reply, grabbing my bag as I pass my cubicle. I walk straight-backed out the door to the hall and around the corner until finally, none of my coworkers can see me. Once I am positive that I’m out of sight, I slump against wall, taking shallow breaths.

So that’s it, then. Nothing to it but to give Miss Possibelf my notice. Three more bloody days at this bloody company and then I’m a free woman at last.


	2. Agatha After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha Wellbelove quit Watford Industries six months earlier, and never intended to look back. She hadn’t accounted for the one friend who never took “no” for an answer.

I drag my brush across the canvas in broad, furious strokes. I’m not ready for this. I walked away from that life six months ago, and I never intended to look back. I hadn’t accounted for the one friend who _never_ took “no” for an answer.

I drop my brush onto the dropcloth and stretch my neck, rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I can’t believe I’d actually fooled myself into thinking that I could keep on living in the same city for the rest of my life without running into any of my old friends. I sigh. It was only a matter of time.

I check my phone. Five to. Might as well make myself presentable. I inspect myself in the mirror. My hair is mess, pulled back in a messy bun with strands hanging loose every which way. I’m wearing a pair of paint-splattered dungarees over a men’s vest and I’m barefoot. He would be _appalled_ if he saw me like this. He would probably faint from shock.

Heh.

I push a loose strand behind my ear. Good enough.

I’ve just set a pot to boil when the buzzer rings. It’s time. I take a deep breath and open the door.

“Ags!” Basil greets me with open arms, then steps back and holds me at arms’ length. “You look… hum.” He glances about and his face falls. “Your new flat is… cozy.”

I cross my arms and bark out a laugh. “You can say ‘small,’ Basil. I know it’s what you’re thinking.”

“Agatha. Aggie. Ags. I would never…” He stops himself before telling the obvious lie. “How do you live like this?”

“We’re quite comfortable, actually.”

“ _We_?”

“Pot’s boiling, darling!” Minty calls out from our bedroom. She wanders out to the kitchen and takes the pot off the cooker without looking up from her book, then starts as she glances up. “Oh.” She pushes her glasses up on top of her head. “Is it that time already? …Bart, is it?”

He positively bristles. Minty damn well knows his name. Oh, this is positively delicious. I’ll be thanking her for this later.

“Basil, actually. Baz, if we’re friends. Basilton, if we’re not,” he replies smoothly.

She chuckles. “You have a lot of names, Basil-Baz-Basilton. I’m not sure which one to choose.”

He stiffens. “Basil will be fine. And you are…”

“This is my Minty. We’re together now.” I wrap my arm around her waist and settle my head on her shoulder.

He looks at me blankly.

“Minty.” I straighten and gesture toward my girlfriend. “My best friend since forever.”

He wrinkles his brow. “ _I’m_ your best friend.”

_Morgana, honestly?_

“Basil. Minty. I talked to you about her all the time, remember? She’s been my best friend since we were girls.”

Basil sticks a hand out to Minty. “Do you work for Watford, then?”

Minty snickers. “God, no, I’m an office manager at a surgery.”

Basil looks positively stricken. “Aren’t those… generally… full of sick people?”

Minty is entirely nonplussed. “Oh, quite. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a waiting room full of sick people at the peak of flu season.”

Basil blanches. “And how did–” Basil gestures between Minty and me, “– _this_ happen?”

“In Ibiza,” I explain brightly. He looks blankly at me. _Again_. Morgan Le Fay, does he remember nothing? “Ibiza.” I repeat. “Basil. Remember? I quit Watford because Davy tried to make me cancel my holiday in Ibiza to work on a new campaign of his?”

“Oh, is that why you quit?”

“Baz. I told you all about this. Do you ever listen to a single thing I say?”

He pouts. “That was six months ago, Ags. You can’t expect me to remember everything you’ve ever said to me.”

“Tea, anyone?” Minty inserts two hot cups between the two of us, and forcibly drags me to the settee. Basil gingerly lifts a pile of papers off the armchair and perches on the edge of the seat.

I sigh. “You can sit all the way down, Basil, it’s clean. I swear on Henning’s name.”

He settles back and takes a sip of tea. “Not bad.” He lifts an eyebrow appreciatively. “But what happened to all of those espressos you used to drink?”

“I don’t need all of that caffeine anymore now that I’m actually sleeping. Minty has me doing relaxation exercises now.” I squeeze Minty’s hand and curl my legs up underneath me.

Basil glances from me to Minty and back again. “So tell me about Ibiza. About the two of you.”

I tip my head so it just barely grazes hers. “Well it was lovely. Sitting on the beach together, no deadlines, no demands on my time, nothing to do but sip champagne and soak in the sun. I had all the time in the world to think about what I wanted to do and what really made me happy now that I was no longer at Watford. And I realized that what makes me happy – more than anything – is Minty.” I gaze shyly at her, even after all this time. “I’m so lucky that she felt the same way.”

She lifts our intertwined fingers to her mouth and kisses my fingers. “I’m the lucky one.” After all these months, she can still stop my heart.

“It’s a wonder I didn’t realize it sooner,” I remark. “Maybe it was all the stress at Watford. I should have left that job ages ago.”

“Hey, babe, no regrets,” Minty admonishes me gently, placing a hand on my cheek.

Basil clears his throat. Right.

“So. Well. That was that, I suppose. My lease on my old flat ran out last fall, and I could hardly afford it with what I'm making working freelance…”

“…And I had plenty of room in this flat,” Minty adds.

Basil raises an eyebrow at this. Yes, Basil, we all know your thoughts on our flat.

“…So Minty invited me to move in,” I conclude. “And it’s been ‘happily ever after’ ever since.”

“And your mother…?” Basil asks.

Minty snorts.

“Not very happy,” I explain.

“To say the least,” Minty mutters.

“She wants me to go to business school. ‘Darling, I know the Marketing Department didn’t work out for you, but I’m sure you’d _love_ the Accounting Department at Watford,'" I imitate my mother’s voice.

“She keeps trying to set her up with corporate attorneys. _Watford_ corporate attorneys,” Minty rolls her eyes.

“ _Male_ Watford corporate attorneys,” I clarify.

“Oh love, if I took a job at Watford tomorrow, she’s probably approve of me oodles more than she does today,” Minty points out.

“True,” I sigh.

“So your mother hasn’t changed one bit?” Basil asks, taking another sip of tea.

“Not at all,” I laugh. “And how’s Simon?”

He sputters and nearly spits out his tea. “He’s… he’s marvelous. We’re together, actually.”

“Yes, I figured. It was bound to happen, eventually.” I turn to Minty. “Simon’s my ex-boyfriend that Basil stole from me.”

“You’d thrown him over weeks before we got together!” Basil protests.

“Jealous?” Minty smiles at me.

“Morgana, no.” I kiss her temple, right where I can feel her pulse beating against my lips, and inhale her scent. “ _Never_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was shocked - _shocked_ , I tell you - not to have found a tag for Agatha/Minty. Surely someone else has shipped them together! Please join me in this rare pair. xoxo


End file.
